Unsteady
by ByEnchantingHuman
Summary: 'There is a fine line between love & hate' For our OC, this cliched line is vague, and utterly preposterous, her HATE for a certain 'Doctor' has come to define her. But will finally meeting the so-called Master of Fear, change her dangerous perspective, or will it ignite something else within her, something that could have heartbreaking consequences. J . Crane XOC. Set after TDK.
1. Chapter 1-Hold

Chapter 1 – **Hold**.

It was a typically droll night in Gotham, a lone Black Merc sits, idling, on the commonly known boundary between Gotham's 'Upper' Distract and the murky Narrows beyond. The persistent patter of sleet hitting the windshield resonated loudly within the car, mimicking an almost soothing effect for its tired occupant, and thankfully blocking out the unmistakable sound of blaring sirens and ringing gunshots in the distance.

2:03AM.

 _Grumpy_ breathed deeply; taking a drag of his untouched cigarette, and another quick sip of his sour coffee, one eyelid threatening to close involuntarily at any moment. It seemed nothing could keep his waning focus at bay, the lull of sleep was imminent. He briefly rolled down the side window and flicked the redundant cigarette into a nearby bramble, the sharp inhale of painfully cold air awakening him, for now.

 _Damn you!_ Grumpy complained, trying unsuccessfully to get comfortable in his upright position, not coherent enough to try and pull the chair backwards, using the lever at his side. _I don't care what the boss says, if_ _he_ _ain't here in_ _FIVE_ _minutes I'm outta here._

Wincing as he took another swig at the lukewarm liquid, he remembered the conversation he'd had with his boss a few weeks previous.

* * *

"When the, uh, Batman locks me up, that's not an _IF_ , it's a _when-_ " The madman waggled a crooked finger in Grumpy's anxious face, his purple gloves straining with the effort of the exaggerated gesture. "I've got a little job for you Grumpy, I want you to go see a _Doc_ " A nutty laugh erupted from the Bosses' malformed lips; the tired makeup, applied generously in places, and not so much in others, wrinkled with each jovial spasm of his cheeks. Giving the unnerving impression that his face was slowly disintegrating before the Henchman's beady eyes. He gripped his belly, almost Santa-like, and gave one last throaty chuckle. "Grumpy? _Doc_? Snow White, get it?"

It seemed that Grumpy had no option, other than to ' _get it_ '. A squeak of a laugh fell from his lips. Grumpy couldn't hide his uncertainty, being within this close a proximity to the infamous Joker himself, without him pointing a gun squarely at your head, was terrifying at best.

"I've know 'im for quite a long, uh, time" The Joker continued happily, completely aware of his companions discomfort. "I've arranged a meeting with 'im, but it's unlikely I'll be able to attend, being in Arkham and all. So I want you to go in my place. It would be impolite not to."

The Joker wrapped a long arm around Grumpy's stout frame, resting his head onto the henchman's shoulder, almost lovingly. _He must be having a laugh?_ Grumpy thought, _I'm not some errand boy_. He grimaced, he would never voice his traitorous thoughts out loud though. He was in the Joker's employment, and if Joker said 'Shoot', he'd aim for the head. It was undignified, but it kept bread on his table.

"What's this meeting about Boss?"

"It's my way out of Arkham, Dwarf- _y_ "

"How so?" Grumpy asked tentatively, his curiosity piqued, and yet unsure if he should ask. One wrong word could land you on the receiving end of a loaded pistol, and your head on a pike, for that added _flair_.

"A Toxin" The Joker said simply. Grumpy's brow furrowed in confusion. The Joker sighed against Grumpy's shoulder, mouthing something along the lines of 'dimwit' before continuing. "Me and the Doc have been, uh, working together" He spat out the words, as if the concept of team work was vulgar to him. "I've got the brains, for sure, but Science, it was never my thing, Grumps."

"So my ideas, and the Doc's Chemistry Set created a Toxin that when released will aide me in escaping Arkham".

Grumpy couldn't help but interrupt.

"-but, how will I know when to use the Toxin, and how? Will it disable the guards? Will it destroy the prison walls? Is it ingestible? _What_ does it do?" Grumpy exhaled, he had so many probing questions, and these were just the tip of the iceberg. When you were in conversation with Joker, it flowed in quick succession, it was best to get your point across before he impatiently realised there was something much more entertaining across the room; last time it'd been a crate, stuffed with TNT. The Joker's attention span was incredibly weak.

"Hush" Joker hissed, gripping Grumpy's chin between his thumb and forefinger. The Joker's nonchalant stance, suddenly became an imposing one. His grip was just hard enough to sting, but not with the intent to cause injury. A bead of sweat trickled down Grumpy's bald forehead, and tears threatened his eyes. He tried to compose himself, not wanting to tempt the Joker even further with his display of cowardice. "We'll iron out the details later, for now, just remember, I owe you one" The Joker winked mischievously, although his tone was undoubtedly seething. "-and _if_ you screw this up, that might just save your life"

* * *

Grumpy gave another impatient sigh, his fingers working to massage his throbbing temples. _After tonight, I might go work for_ Penguin _, he's a reasonable guy, with reasonable working hours_. His squinted eyes focused solely on the dashboard of the Merc, a firm grimace on his face, pondering his current employment.

 **BANG!BANG!BANG!**

Grumpy clumsily dropped his coffee onto his lap, at the loud noise. " _Fuck_ " He hissed, his eyes darting angrily to hooded figure, who'd unceremoniously slammed their fists onto the hood of his car. Quickly, ignoring his sodden jeans, he pulled down his mask, and roughly pushed open the door, heaving himself onto the concrete. Hopefully he could scare the little weasel into pitiful submission; only certain folks in Gotham bore _clown_ masks. He was on official business, he didn't need some low-life terrorizing him.

As soon as he'd exited the Merc, the figure stepped back fluidly, folding their cloaked arms across their chest, and tapping an inpatient foot. It was a rather feminine gesture, Grumpy noticed, bemused.

"Do you know whose car you just dented?" Grumpy spat, his words muffled by the mask, but nevertheless intimidating. Standing at measly 5'6 Grumpy was short for a man, but he had the weight of ten men behind him, and _two_ coronaries to prove it.

"I'm assuming _yours_ " The figure spoke a matter of factly; the voice was distinctly female, unfamiliar, and surprisingly…bored. "I think that because, The Joker, AKA your employer, wouldn't drive something as indistinguishable as a black Merc, don't you agree, _Grumpy_?" The figure clicked her tongue, and cocked her head sideways, awaiting a response.

"You-you're the _Doc_?" Grumpy wondered, taking in her mostly concealed appearance.

She matched him equally in height, although her tall physique was partially athletic, he could almost make out a hint of curves beneath the black smock she adorned. She had some strength behind her, he noted, his eyes straining fruitlessly in the dark. He assumed some folks might mistake her for slight or more so, _average_. Her face was mostly cloaked in shadow, but he could make out the firm, thin line of her lips, and ghostly pale skin, contrasting painfully in the pitch black night. The rest of her was hidden from view, aside from a wild lock of curly black hair, escaping from the lining of her hood. If he were to walk by her in the street a few days after this meet-up, he wouldn't have a hope of recognizing her; perhaps that _was_ the idea.

"I'm here for the exchange." She stated flatly. Grumpy squinted suspiciously at her, her American accent seemed almost _phoned_ in, there was suppressed intellect behind her words, and definitely a hint of something else. It was faint, but distinct. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

"Well-" Grumpy started, unsettled by her blank stare. The tense atmosphere had trebled within the short span of a few seconds. Grumpy shifted nervously, praying to get back into the sanctuary of his coffee- stained car. This woman, whoever she was, evoked a tremor of unease in Grumpy. Perhaps it was the air of mystery surrounding her, or the fact that her unseen eyes, seemed to bore into him, carefully examining him, as _he_ had done _her_.

"So hand it over" Grumpy spat quickly, mustering up the last bit of courage he had.

"Certainly" The woman politely replied, as if she was handing over his change, rather than some Biological Weapon.

She pulled out a small canister, about the size and style of a grenade, from her coat pocket. She threw it loosely to Grumpy, and Grumpy fumbled to catch the _thing_. She made no move to pull out another.

"That's it?" Grumpy hissed angrily. "ONE, grenade? I can buy one of these from any gun shop worth its salt, I'm meant to free the Joker with this?" He gasped incredulously, The Joker must be having a laugh. _Maybe that's all this is? A smug giggle at my expense_.

"That-" The woman began, pointing sharply at the Grenade, "-is a highly compressed _Toxin_ , when you pull its plug, it will emit a potent gas, that can and _will_ engulf the whole of Arkham Asylum, you'll be able to walk freely into Arkham and retrieve your boss without anyone questioning you. You have ONE hour. I'd suggest you wear a Gas Mask, as these things have no qualms with taking out the people who release them, and The Joker is too flippant to assure your safety by purchasing an antidote from me." She spoke quickly, without taking a single breath, her words were spoken with such confidence and ease, that Grumpy had trouble forming his next question.

"Can you guarantee that it'll work?"

The Doc sighed, the first emotion she had exhibited during the entire conversation. Suddenly it seemed like the night air had turned bitter cold. "It WILL work, I can guarantee that it _will_ work." Her words were filled with venom, Grumpy stepped back and gripped the handle to his Merc, although she hadn't moved any closer to the Henchman, he was starting to feel claustrophobic. "However, the one thing I _can't_ guarantee is that your pitiful incompetence will be able to do this job without killing yourself. A simple mind like yours, won't be able to handle the glaring effects of my Toxin. So yes, without Human Error-" Her voice rose considerably, only to drop back into a steady whisper, as if her outburst hadn't just occurred. "-your Boss is as good as free."

 _I'm surrounded by fucking loonies._ Grumpy groaned inwardly. _Maybe a new job isn't the way forward, maybe i need to move to a new_ state _._

"Now," The woman exhaled, glancing at her watch in haste, starting to dismiss Grumpy with sharp nod. "I've got to go" _Wait_ , _what_?

"Wait!" Grumpy called, his eyes wide, but she was already down the embankment. She moved at a fast, ridged pace. "How will I find you if this all goes tits up?"

Her response was short and sweet, and resonating the same bored tone as before. The cloaked figure didn't even hesitate, and continued marching forward. "You won't. If you mess this up, you'll be _dead,_ or at least wish you were."

Grumpy was alone again, and undeniably shaken.

 _Who is she?_ Grumpy wondered cautiously, before climbing unsteadily into the car and driving back to the warehouse, to begin his plans. He pocketed the grenade and made a mental note to keep it on his person at _all_ times. He couldn't have some trigger-happy Henchman dissolving half of Gotham. He had a long week ahead, and he figured he wasn't sleeping a wink tonight anyway. _**She**_ took care of that. Grumpy shuddered again, before hitting the gas pedal.

…

 **Well guys, I hope that's an alright opening for ya. I'd love to hear your comments and reviews; critical or compliments. The next chapter isn't going to be in Grumpy's POV(he isn't integral to the story),I just wanted to get an atmosphere going. I'm wanting to introduce my OC more thoroughly next chapter, and maybe an appearance from Doctor Crane at some point. I'm sorry to say that this story might be a little bit of a** _ **slow burn**_ **, 'cause I do want to make sure that I cover all angles ETC.**

 **Updates HOPEFULLY should be semi-regular, but I can't make any promises.**

 **I don't own the rights to Batman, Dr Crane, or anyone mentioned in this Fanfic, except my OC.**


	2. Chapter 2- Hold on

Chapter 2- **Hold on**

(Elizabeth's POV)

Elizabeth awoke in panicked alarm, her long, pale fingers tangled painfully in a mass of curly black hair, her bangs stuck _attractively_ to the unmistakable sheen of sweat on her forehead. Her round face smashed unceremoniously against a fluffy couch cushion.

"I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there's no relief in waking" Elizabeth mumbled dryly, turning her head hesitantly to garner a hateful look at the mountain of paperwork _still_ left haphazardly upon the coffee table, her pen had gone AWOL. Between her patients at the hospital, and her _own_ experiments, she slept where she dropped.

"You know, talking to yourself is the first sign of madness?" A sympathetic, yet familiar voice whispered quietly from the far side of the room, interrupting Elizabeth's internal whining. A short bark of a laugh erupted from Elizabeth's heaving chest, as her icy blue eyes focused solely on the small figure, now stood wearily at the foot of the couch.

The young, _fragile_ girl smiled courteously at her roommate, her feet shifting nervously under Elizabeth's scrutiny. Her brown, thick locks fell an inch shorter than Elizabeth's. Perfectly kempt and pulled back into a neat ponytail, strikingly dissimilar to Elizabeth's unruly curls; it had been a childhood _dare_ of theirs, who could reach the World Record for the 'Longest Hair' first? Now, in their early thirties, the game was still ongoing. It was hard to believe that Molly was the older of the two sisters, in both personality and looks. She was a kindred soul, a _sweet_ girl, in a world full of resentment and hate. Her curious brown eyes warmed the hearts of everyone she came across, friend or foe, and a face full of youthful ignorance. She was never aging, in perfect stasis.

 _Whereas I, look…_ worn. Elizabeth mused, she shrugged off the sentiment, rubbing tiredly at the dark bags under her eyes, and locating her missing pen tucked safely behind her ear. _When was the last time I looked into a mirror?_ She pondered for a second before shaking her head in disinterest. _Not recently._

"There's nothing to do, except laugh in the in the face of truth, Mol" Elizabeth retorted coldly, un-weaving herself from the huge expanse of raven hair, that confined her to the sofa, and walking fluidly across the living room, ignoring her sister's probing gaze. She moved robotically, as if waking up in terror was a regular occurrence. _Perhaps it was_.

"So, how did it go, the other night?" Molly quipped, the sickly-sweet tone almost making Elizabeth gag.

"It's **done**." Elizabeth stated firmly, wondering through the hallway to the kitchenette, and flicking on the coffee machine, Molly hot on her tail, as usual.

"So things are in motion?" Molly asked tentatively, furrowing her brow, and chomping feverishly on her bottom lip. Elizabeth hated talking _business_ with her sister, she worried too much; always two steps behind Elizabeth in the intellect department, what Molly didn't understand, she made it her mission to be frustratingly weary of.

 _Doesn't she realise I'm doing this for_ her _wellbeing, not my own?_

"The poison of Gotham's underbelly will soon be released, and allowed to wreak havoc on the masses" Elizabeth spoke with cold finality. She didn't care _what_ the inmates of Arkham were allowed to do when they inevitably hit the streets, as long as her sister remained unharmed. "Batman's focus will no longer be on _us_ , but on _them_ " She had no reason to hide how abhorrent she found the masked vigilante and the criminals he locked away.

"So what do we do now, Liz?" Molly probed, fidgeting with the hem of her purple sweater.

"Well-" Elizabeth sighed, pulling a single mug from the cupboard and putting it onto the counter. "We wait"

"Wait till _when_?" Molly whined impatiently, like a petulant child; if this was anyone else, Elizabeth would've coldly told them to leave her apartment, and that she'd notify them in due course, but with it being her sister, she had no choice but the put up with incessant complaining, until the job was complete.

"Patience is a virtue, you know Mol" Elizabeth hissed through her clenched teeth, pouring the freshly brewed coffee into the mug and taking a gulp. She hadn't offered Molly a cup, she wouldn't have drank it anyway.

"Taking into delightful consideration, that the gentleman I met with the other night was a complete _buffoon,_ with the attention span of a nut, we should be in action some point within the next hour" Elizabeth explained evenly, obvious condescension seeping into her tone.

It was getting late into the day; she'd slept through all of the morning and a good chunk of the afternoon, her nightshift at the Gotham General starting promptly at 8PM.

The girls sat in silence for a few minutes, Elizabeth enjoying the peace that accompanied it. The silence was interrupted with Molly's inane chatter.

"Have you spoke to _mum_ lately?" She asked carefully, Elizabeth could tell she was trying to evoke guilt within the younger sibling, but Elizabeth was _not_ that comprehendible, although she did almost spit out her coffee. Instead of guilt, Elizabeth supressed unparalleled rage at the thought.

"No, not since…" Elizabeth started, clamping her mouth shut to hide her contempt.

"-since the _incident_?" Molly asked, looking down at her lap. _At least_ one _of us is feeling guilty_. Elizabeth huffed with slight envy. Molly had always been the empathetic one, Elizabeth struggled in that regard. Elizabeth would kick a cat and observe its disorientation, whereas Molly would be there to stick a band aid on its paw and to shower it with nurturing kisses. It was an odd dynamic, but it worked.

Their parents had moved back to the UK after the _incident_ , leaving Molly and Elizabeth, to fend for themselves, in Gotham City, of all places. It had been almost a year since they had 'abandoned' them, and their phone calls had become decidedly less and less frequent, recently they had diminished to a meagre twice a fortnight. Eventually, Elizabeth figured they'd just give up, seeing as she never answered, or returned their messages. _They deserve to wallow in their grief._ She spat, after all, they'd left her to deal with hers, alone. _It's the same for everyone_ , she admitted spitefully, as if they could hear her thoughts. _You shouldn't feel_ special _, I don't answer to anyone, 'cept Mol._

Elizabeth nodded at Molly, her piercing eyes desolate, awaiting Molly's next words. "You should, give them a ring."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, _I wouldn't waste_ one _breath of Oxygen on those vile creatures._ However, before she could say the words-

 **!RING!RING!RING!**

Elizabeth looked sharply at the phone, blaring at her loudly from the sideboard. Her expression darkened. _This is it._

"We'll talk about this later, Mol" She managed, concealed excitement bubbling within her, before glancing half-heartedly at her sister, and noticing her pained expression, she sighed inwardly, "I _promise_." She smiled forcibly at her sister, until the smile was returned with equal vigour; but then, the moment was gone. Her gaze fixed on the phone in front of her. Reaching for it, she knew _who_ and _what_ it was.

She answered the phone, shielding any emotion she had, behind a façade of indifference.

"Hello?" A woman rasped on the other end; it was Dr Leanne Howard, Director of Gotham General. "Dr Brandt?"

"Speaking." Elizabeth responded politely, pretending to act shocked at receiving the call. She feigned a yawn in Molly's direction, making her sister stifle a _schoolgirl_ -giggle.

Elizabeth could hear hurried footsteps on the other end of the line, as if the Director was sprinting down the hallway, and then the sound of double doors opening in her wake. "Dr Brandt, We're contacting all senior staff, we need you to come in." It wasn't a question.

"-why?" Elizabeth asked patiently, she slipped into character with such ease, her voice _almost_ came across as concerned.

"We-" That's when she heard it, the distinct sound of _laughing_. A chorus of giggles emanating from whichever room Dr Howard had just stepped into. The noise was ear-splittingly loud, it almost sounded like she had a room full of roaring, ravenous lions. _It worked._ She looked at Molly, and gave her a gleeful thumbs up. "We had a major break-out at Arkham Asylum" The Director explained, her voice straining over the continued screeching in the background. "The Joker's men, they set off an explosion of some sort, and the gas- a mass of inmates escaped, but the ones that're left… _They_ _ **won't**_ _stop laughing_!"

Elizabeth cocked her head to the side, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. There were a lot of factors to attain here:

 _Have there been any fatalities?_

 _Have any of them choked on their own tongue?_ (A common issue in regards to the _toxin_ ).

 _Hyperventilation? Cardiac Arrest? Lack of cognitive brain functions?_

"I'll be right there."

 **Right, right, right, I know in the comics, The Joker made his own Laughing Toxin, but in THIS story, it belongs to my OC. (*cruel laugh*) I hope you like the character, she's a bit** _ **un**_ **~likeable I'll admit, but that's what I wanted overall.**

 **I just wanted to clarify, because I forgot to put it in my last little message, this is set after TDK, The Joker is in Arkham AFTER the events of TDK, so it's been a little over a year since Dr Crane was sent to Arkham.**

 **NEXT TIME: Dr. Crane's POV.**

 **Again, Batman, Dr Crane and Gotham is NOT my property. All I own is my OC.**

 **Comment or criticize, I'd love to hear from you.**


	3. Chapter 3- Hold on to me

Chapter 3- **Hold on to me**

(Dr Crane's POV)

 **Wake up Johnny…**

… _Johnny isn't available right now, would you like to leave a message?_

Johnathan shifted uncomfortably within the confines of his cot, his shoulders aching from the prolonged exertion; his head knocking painfully against the unforgiving metal bars of his headboard, his sock-clad feet hanging loosely from the tip of the mediocre ' _bed'-_ defeated. With every passing hour his mood soured considerably. He'd been tossing and turning all _day_ long, and his delicate frame struggled with the strain.

 _This pitiful cot isn't designed for purpose_ , he whined internally. Of all the inconveniences that Arkham Asylum threw at him, who knew that it'd be the sleeping arrangements that irked the tired Doctor most of all, that, and the excruciating boredom. He'd taken to _trying_ to nap throughout the day, because between the unfathomable screams of the inmates within his wing; _all the loonies came out at night_ , and the frustratingly small bed frame he was supposed to adhere to, it was impossible.

 **You mean it's designed for a** _ **fucking**_ **midget?** The Scarecrow mused, laughing coldly, clearly amused by the Doctor's continued discomfort, or at least, that's what he wanted to good Doctor to believe. In reality, this was _his_ body as well. He knew Johnathan was struggling to adjust to life in the regimented Asylum. A mere _year_ later, and Johnathan was still no closer to conforming. It was only through the intellectual interaction of each other that had kept Johnathan from falling off the reservation completely.

A few weeks previous, he'd been finally allowed out of his straightjacket full-time. Being fed unidentifiable cafeteria food by some _slack-jawed_ intern, while his arms were immobile, was abhorrent to say the least. He'd refused to eat most days, due to the embarrassing nature of it, ergo, his tall frame continued to wither, he didn't possess the subtle strength he'd once had.

* * *

The brightly lit corridors of Arkham Asylum were a stark contrast to dim fluorescent lights of Doctor Crane's cell, a peek at the _dank_ reality that Johnathan had left behind, many moons ago. He absorbed every detail of his surroundings ravenously, as if it were one of his previous experiments. If he focused impeccably hard; ignoring the heavy shackles binding his feet and hands. The ripe clinical smell of the Asylum seemed almost soothing. The thought enraged him. _I was the Director of this Asylum, and_ _they_ _stole it from me._

… **and we'll take it back,** the Scarecrow soothed, giving his counterpart a knowing smile, and then glaring suspiciously down at the Doctor walking alongside them. **She's talking to you.** He tapped a playful finger to the side of his nose. **Pay attention Johnny, we can't have her knowing that her patient is** _ **still**_ **having conversations with himself, she'll certify you** _ **insane**_ **, and back to the straightjacket you go.**

 _It'll ruin our progress, that's for sure._

Johnathan was immediately _back_ in reality, glancing sideways at Doctor Francis, just has his counterpart had done.

"Now that you're out of your restraints, Johnathan, you can interact more freely with your fellow inmates, and I've taken the liberty of enrolling you in one of our Art Therapy sessions" Doctor Francis explained carefully, avoiding Johnathan's obvious scrutiny as much as she could, she'd taken to looking surreptitiously at her hands.

Doctor Geraldine Francis, was simply _inept_ , thought Johnathan, smugly. It had infuriated Johnathan when they'd first been introduced, their first session had been a complete derailed disaster, although Doctor Francis was not aware of it. He'd garnered everything he needed to know about the Doctor; from the depths of her cool, grey eyes, that housed no curiosity for the profession or her patient, to the fact that she'd grown up on a farm. Scarecrow had had quite the chuckle at the latter. _How dare they lumber_ _me_ _, with_ _her,_ _she's a_ milkmaid _?_ He was a 'High Profile' patient, and he'd been given, recently-graduated Geraldine, _average_ in every conceivable way.

His anger slowly depleted, as he came to the sudden realisation that he could easily manipulate her to his advantage. Within a short couple of weeks, he'd retrieved his glasses, was allowed basic reading material in his cell and was _now_ , out of his straightjacket. But as Doctor Crane observed, _every good thing must come to an end._ He looked down at the redneck-doctor with distaste. _What do you_ **fear** _?_

"Whilst I'm incarcerated here DoctorFrancis, and as I've told you before, I would be prefer to be referred to as _Doctor_ Crane, after all, the court may have striped me of my legal human rights, and freedom, but when the Judge sentenced me, I distinctly remember him saying ' _Doctor_ Johnathan Crane', and I want you to adhere to that." His tone was one of condescension and feigned politeness. In actuality, reminding Doctor Francis of this fact, was becoming ever more tedious. He hoped that one day, he'd be able to visit Doctor Francis again, when the environment was _substantial_ ; _her_ strapped to a table, and _him_ holding the fateful needle. He'd held the cards all along, but he'd like to make her painfully aware of the fact. She was as vulnerable to him now, as she would be then.

Johnathan hid a sadistic smile behind a mask of nonchalance, he had subdued Scarecrow long enough, and Johnathan was struggling to keep his alter ego's urges at bay, as well as his own. He continued mercilessly, his tone devoid of all humour. If he couldn't _touch_ her, he was more than capable of ripping her apart with his words. _For now._

"-and please, Doctor Francis, don't just presume that you can ' _take a liberty'_ in regards to me. I will _not_ associate myself with my fellow inmates, I have nothing to offer them except contempt, and the feeling is undoubtedly mutual" Doctor Francis's eyes were now fixed on the floor, as they continued marching forward, she flinched occasionally when his words sounded overtly venomous. "Art Therapy is a preposterous idea on your part, and the fact that you believe that I would submit to this, clearly displays to me your _naivety._ Remember who you're dealing with, Doctor."

"We're here" She whistled, sounding relieved, eagerly pushing open the door to the Art Therapy Tech room, and quickly stepping inside, after Doctor Crane, and nodding courteously to a few other co-workers milling around.

"Ah _Johnathan_ , welcome" An unfamiliar voice purred. Another female Doctor sat patiently in the middle of the room, a circle of inmates surrounding her. He struggled to place her name; once The Joker had been admitted, a substantial amount of Doctors had immediately resigned. _This must be a new recruit._ He grimaced, this was degrading. _Is it too late to sign up for Electro-shock therapy?_

"Take a seat and join us" The all- _too_ -happy Doctor smiled, gesturing to an empty chair at the far side of the circle, with a simple canvas and a multitude of apparatus beside it. Scarecrow crooned gleefully at the sight.

 _What's got into you? You despise painting. It's_ redundant _._

 **Look Johnny-boy,** _ **weapons**_ , the giddiness of Scarecrow's voice unnerved Johnathan.

 _You can't, not yet._ He urged, quickly grasping Scarecrow's dangerous intentions. He pointedly ignored Doctor Francis's triumphant smirk, as he calmly walked across the room, without quarrel.

Johnathan took a reluctant seat, wiping his sweaty palms onto his Orange overalls as he did so. Doctor Francis took a chair beside him, apparently to oversee his ' _work'_.

 **Come on Johnny, let me have some fun. It's what** **we** **want.**

The session begun in quick succession around him, inmates slashing paint upon their canvases, with _pitiful_ delight, whilst their intrepid Phycologists looked on with either, happy satisfaction or plain boredom. He had yet to pick up his paintbrush.

"Johnathan?" Doctor Francis asked tentatively, gesturing for him to proceed. _Asif_.

The Scarecrow's welcoming tendrils had started to eclipse Johnathan's _now_ \- vulnerable mind, the feeling of intense euphoria enticing Johnathan. They were, after all, the same being, and what Scarecrow wanted, Johnathan undoubtedly desired too, as much as the Doctor reputed it.

 _Stop,_ Johnathan insisted, pleading with his alter-ego. He could feel the _irritating_ presence of Doctor Francis beside him, sighing in frustration, as she picked up the Paintbrush _for_ him, and put it hesitantly into his awaiting palm. She had no idea of the inner- struggle that he was currently battling, and that she was aiding, unintentionally, in her own demise.

"That's it" Doctor Francis encouraged, as his fingers unwittingly gripped the paintbrush, his actions not his own. Scarecrow had won.

 _Fine_. Johnathan relented, with a sharp exhale. As soon as he'd spat out the response, he was shoved abruptly into the recesses of his own mind, stuck watching his morbid alter-ego's actions from afar, as if he was in a movie theatre, he was slightly disheartened by the obscene lack of popcorn.

Within a few short seconds, the Paintbrush clutched tightly in his fist, was swung, with unparalleled speed into Doctor Francis's eyesocket, the wooden handle splintering on impact, and her body hitting the carpet with an unceremonious _thump!_ Johnathan's shackles miraculously _un_ -shackled.

Her body immediately went into catatonic spasms, but life had already left the unfortunate doctor. Johnathan frowned, as Scarecrow was tackled abruptly to the floor, with a painful grunt.

 _Killed instantly._ Crane observed critically, as if he was discussing the weather, _slitting her throat may have prolonged the satisfaction somewhat. It's takes up to a minute for the subject to die. What a waste._

* * *

 _Yes, now thanks to_ _you_ _, I'm confined to my cell for the foreseeable future, and was heavily sedated, it took me_ days _to be able to see straight again._

 **I did it for** **us** **, Johnny-Boy. She was irritating, I just wanted to add a little bit of** _ **colour**_ **to her eyes.** His alter ego blurted out a wheezy laugh, but as quickly as it had begun, it abruptly _ended_. Drawing Johnathan's undivided attention. _Wha-_

 **Get up, Johnny.** **Now** **.**

Johnathan threw out a shaky hand onto the table beside him, searching weakly for his glasses. Placing them onto the bridge of his nose he sighed, and proceeded to sit up, scooting curiously to the edge of the cot.

 _What_? Johnathan questioned, already bundling up his cotton blanket, to be used as a makeshift weapon.

Scarecrow hushed him, **Listen.**

Arkham was deadly silent, and then… it _wasn't_.

Without warning, the rickety foundations of the Asylum started to shake violently, a _loud_ obnoxious sound had erupted throughout the building, and the vibrations were astounding. Johnathan immediately stalked to his window, his fists enveloping the cool, metal bars, which kept him captive. He peeked outside, and to his amazement, the yard was relatively peaceful, and seemingly, so was the rest of the Island. The hot summer's day beyond, was gradually becoming an equally tranquil evening.

 _It's contained to the Asylum._

Johnathan cursed, struggling the place to noise that was _still_ ongoing. If it had been an explosion, apart from the odd particle of dust, the sound would've ceased. It seemed as if the entire Asylum was screaming in unison, but Johnathan quickly dismissed the idea. The sound was definitely one of mirth, not terror. He continued to listen attentively, whilst pacing the short length of his cell, two strides was enough. He continued pondering until a familiar _aroma_ caught his nose.

His nostrils flared, and without hesitation, he was stood on top of his sheets, eyeing the air vent above his cot with new found curiosity. A steady stream of ominous gas was seeping through the shaft and into his cell below. The smell was _all-too_ distinctive, he recognised it immediately.

" _Bhutan"_ Johnathan murmured, his jaw slack and eyes wide; the wondrous blue flower, which held amazing capabilities. His thoughts went directly to Ra's a Ghul, the man who had originally introduced him to the hallucinogenic, which in turn, had allowed him to complete his research, but he knew he'd been _seen to_ by The Batman.

His first instinct was to quickly clasp a hand across his nose and mouth, stifling his breath. He almost laughed at his own stupidity, after his previous exposure to the compound _,_ he'd developed a mild Anti-dote which _should_ counteract the Toxin, and injected himself. He thought back to his last encounter with the toxin and openly shuddered; Scarecrow wasn't as prevalent in the old days, he was easily suppressed, but since the incident he'd become _insatiable_. The young Doctor had chalked it up to the fact, that he'd been hit with _three_ doses of the compressed gas in one go, and Scarecrow had thrived off it, essentially securing his strength. At least, that's what he'd _like_ to believe. Or perhaps, as Scarecrow liked to say, 'I was always here, Johnny-Boy, I just emerged when you were _finally_ ready to embrace me'

He kept a secure hand across his mouth, just in case, and began pacing the short length of his cell again.

 _This is certainly a similar strain to_ _our_ _toxin, but…_ different _. The potent smell is slightly sweeter, and the cloud is more robust; it's not dispersing as easily as ours._

 **It's** **ours** **for sure, Johnny, and now the question becomes, who's developed** _ **our**_ **toxin? –thieving cretin** _ **s**_ **.** Scarecrow's tone was one of unparalleled _rage._

Johnathan hesitated, coming to an abrupt halt in his prolonged pacing, he knew he should be vengeful of this character, it was _his_ toxin after all, but he couldn't help but acknowledge how impressed he was at what this individual had achieved. It was nigh unbelievable. Creating the _Toxin_ , in itself is a tedious action indeed.

 _Let's just say, we need to_ find _them, and have a little conversation, but first…we need to get out of here._

He pushed himself pensively against the plexi-glass window, which separated Johnathan from the empty adjacent cells. Upon his publicized arrival, all the inmates within his vicinity were quickly relocated, the cells opposite and beside his, had been empty since; the _crazies_ were unsurprisingly weary of their former Physiatrist. The Doctor would've gloated when he heard the news, but given the circumstances, he was understandably too _blue_ to be smug, as he was marched, and thrown into his cell.

He peeked curiously in both directions, searching for his personal orderlies, the corridors were seemingly deserted; although the dense cloud of gasconcealed most of the hallway beyond, limiting his vision. Aside from the _noise,_ you'd think the desolate Asylum was abandoned. He quickly assumed the guards were preoccupied elsewhere, or had _unfortunately_ , been affected themselves. Johnathan sniggered, knowing his presumption was correct.

He marched over to his bedside table and picked up the heavy piece of apparatus, and lifted it fluidly above his head. The table had been previously bolted to the floor, but during a particularly _long_ -night, Johnathan had pried it loose, leaving his fingernails haggard. All he had needed was a distraction, and through some miracle, it had _finally_ happened.

The strain of lifting the table had an undesired effect on Johnathan's tall, but tired, physique. He'd been overly presumptuous. He wobbled unceremoniously to the left, and then again to the right. He immediately regained his balance, planting his feet firmly on the floor, feeling the weight in his hands. He kept his breath shallow, as he took a tentative step forward. A horrific migraine threatened his new-found stability. His lank arms started to buckle _pathetically_ under the strain, and he grimaced. _It's now or never._ With a rush of adrenaline, using the table as a 'battering ram', Johnathan charged, full force into the glass window.

With an obnoxiously-loud shatter the flimsy door collapsed on impact. Johnathan's breathing was erratic, as the table fell out of his limp hands, and onto the concrete, with a humungous _clatter_!

 **That's goin' to wake the neighbours,** Scarecrow joked, equally as relieved as Johnathan was.

 _It-it worked._ Johnathan choked, taking another laboured breath.

The last fragments of strength left the Doctor, and his long arms hung lamely at his sides, his knees almost buckling beneath him. The events of the evening had been trying to the already tired man. Along with the inevitable exhaustion came _pain_ ; a few shards of glass had torn open his cheeks, as he'd collided heavily with the door. He reached a shaky hand to his seemingly _wet_ lips, and was surprised to see a fearful amount of blood. If Johnathan had been anyone else, he would've panicked, but he remained distant. He looked down at his sock-clad feet and sighed-

 _Well, this is an inconvenience._

His feet were literally torn to shreds, the glass strewn around the corridor poked into the soles of his feet at every _odd_ -angle imaginable, making it difficult to distinguish flesh, from cotton. The blood-loss was horrific.

Although Johnathan was decidedly calm, Scarecrow grew anxious.

 **Come on now Johnny, MOVE!**

 _I'll die of shock before I reach the lobby._ Johnathan corrected, a matter-of-factly.

 **MOVE!**

"This is goin' to hurt _"_ Johnathan mumbled, as he hobbled across the corridor, trying to put as little a weight onto his feet as possible. He limped steadily through the tunnels of Arkham, holding onto the metal banisters for support. In regards to an exit, he knew of only two (that didn't need an access pass), he was heading in the direction of the closest. Unfortunately, both required him to walk up a hefty length of _stairs_.

Luckily for Doctor Crane, stitching up his wounds would be a doddle, but that would come after his victorious escape. _If_ _I escape._ Thinking realistically, he knew he couldn't make it up the stairs without _help_. The elevators were most-definitely out of action.

He worked his way carefully through the 'High Security Wing', and marveled at the sight presented to him.

 _They- They're laughing._ It was all he could muster, his mouth hanging open in awe.

He couldn't help but stop and admire a _familiar_ face, as he limped through the halls of Arkham.

-Peter 'Mad Dog' Keen-. An extremely volatile EX-patient of Dr Crane's, was laying in the fetal position on the dirty floor of his cell, his body thrusting _up and down_ , as if he were having a seizure. _If the laughing persists, he's liable to give himself a_ _hemorrhage_ , Johnathan observed, coldly. He'd tore open his jumpsuit, in a desperate attempt to shed layers; as he obese body proceeded to overheat from the constant convulsions. He was partially laughing hysterically, _partially_ choking on his own unforgiving tongue.

 _He talked a lot in our sessions, the irony of this is deeply gratifying._

Without realising, Johnathan had proceeded to hobble towards the cell door, and press his nose up against the cool, glass; in Dr Crane's twisted view, this was a chance to study and observe. He felt no pity for the man.

He was immobile for a few short seconds, simply staring, unblinking, at the man writhing in his own sweat and _piss_ ; before Scarecrow eagerly moved him along, they couldn't stop, not even for a moment.

After navigating the Asylum for what seemed like _hours_ , he wearily approached the foot of the staircase. His mind was racing, but every viable option came up blank.

He was readying to lift his first shaky foot, onto the step, when suddenly, he felt the intimidating presence of another soul in the corridor, approaching from behind, the sound of _slight_ tiptoeing footsteps; which would be unheard by most, seemed almost deafening to the Doctor. He spun around, quickly on the offensive. His eyes widened, he'd found his _help_.

"Why hello there Doc-tor, you're bleeding all over the, uh, carpet"

 _Joker._

 **Hi guys,** _ **so**_ **it took me a long time to write this chapter, I just wanted to get Johnathan** _ **right**_ **, and I hope I did that?(Cillian Murphy is excellent as Scarecrow, and it's hard to interpret that)- Let me know. Partially filler- Partially set up for the next chapter.**

 **The next chapter will be set a couple of weeks after this, but that doesn't mean you're not going to get Joker & Johnathan Dialogue. Personally, I don't think they'd play every well with each other. **

**Plus, introduction to another of Gotham's favourites.**

 **Don't worry, my OC and Dr Crane will meet** _ **eventually**_ **, hopefully within the next couple of chapters.**

 **Again, Batman, Dr Crane and Gotham is NOT my property. All I own is my OC.**

 **Comment or criticize, I'd love to hear from you.**

 **Thankyou to all the folks who're already following this story, I hope this satisfies you. Much appreciated!**


	4. Chapter 4- 'cause I'm a little Unsteady

Chapter 4- **'cause I'm a little unsteady**

(Dr Crane's POV)

"There we are, uh, Doc _-tor_ " The semi-green haired man sang, licking sloppily at the scar tissue around his irritated lips, and throwing Johnathan onto the floor in a befuddled heap, flailing limbs and blood flying every which-way.

"-and you're sure no one saw us leave?" Johnathan worried, heaving himself off the concrete, with a painful hiss, and shooting a disdainful scowl towards the all-too jovial man.

"The entire Asylum is on its knees, Crane. Trust me, it's- lost. _Lost_ …" The Joker began to witter on, his speech slowly subsiding, along with his derailing train of thought, until it was nothing more than a low throaty growl; his hearty grin was all teeth, and he was moving chaotically, pacing from left to right, raking his shaky hands through his greasy locks, hard enough to rip the dishevelled strands from their roots, ringing his hands together as if he were a 'bond' villain. _Keeping up this pretence of insanity must be exhausting,_ Johnathan overserved critically, polishing his glasses with the hem of his jumpsuit, trying desperately to wipe the wayward blood off the lens. The Joker seemed to be in awe _,_ as the Doctor had been mere moments before.

They had fled Arkham with relative ease; the Joker swiftly pulling Johnathan into the unforgiving stink of his armpit, his lank arms easing him up the stairs and out into evening. Johnathan suspected he'd have unmistakable 'finger-shaped' bruises in the morning. The Joker was undoubtedly more harrowing, than he was gentile. Johnathan quickly dismissed his physical injuries. _An unfortunate inconvenience,_ snorted Johnathan. The Doctor had his priorities in order, and he knew he had _other,_ more urgent matters to attend to.

In the dark, snaky corridors of Arkham, he'd struck an impromptu deal with the Joker in his haste to escape, and incidentally, he was now in _debt_ to The Joker; A tit for tat, I help you, you help me, scenario. The thought revolted him, if he'd of had any other option, he'd have spit at the clown's feet. He'd worked, voluntarily, for people before, but he'd always made his own decisions, he always held the upper hand.

"One day, _Doc_ , I'll ask after you, and you'll be there" The Joker had warned with a sadistic sneer, pressing all-too knowing finger to his nose, before tugging him merrily up the staircase. The intent was clear. _Be_ _there, or_ _die_ _._ Johnathan denounced the threat entirely, he wasn't afraid of some _batty_ circus attraction.

"So-" Johnathan began carefully, choosing to avoid the subject altogether, _for now_. He glanced sideways at the infamous Joker, he restrained himself from sighing, as he placed his now-wrecked glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. It was frankly bewildering; apart from his blatant facial deformity, a garish Cheshire- cat grin that ran, seemingly from ear to ear, irritated and downright horrific, Johnathan concluded that The Joker could fit in anywhere, but _chose_ not to. - _Textbook Narcissist_ , Johnathan thought coldly, slipping into his Physiatrist persona with ease _._ Clad simply in his slack orange overalls, and lacking his signature greasepaint, he wasn't as distinguishable from the other inmates as you might think. He was practically ordinary. – _Not insane per say, simply...opinionated. He's an_ _entertainer_ _._

 **You know Johnny-boy, he's not as intimidating in person.** The Scarecrow jested, abruptly halting his _session_. His typically vocal alter-ego had been unusually quiet up till now. He hadn't interjected when Johnathan had struck that ludicrous deal, and hadn't laughed at Johnathan's expense when he was thrown at the curb. He'd been silently observing The Joker, like Crane, but with a much greater intensity. While Johnathan was trying to play physiatrist, _he_ was making sure The Joker wasn't going to harm Johnathan, and as a technicality, _himself_. Doctor Crane was at his most vulnerable, and although he feigned indifference, Scarecrow knew the constant blood- loss was affecting him. The ripe, curdling flesh on the soles of his feet, was attempting, but not remotely succeeding, in trying to heal. The delayed clotting process had begun, but the Doctor's gruesome appendages were practically crucified, and were going to need some serious TLC. **You're going to need a needle, and a shit-ton of thread, Johnny-Boy.** As if on cue, Johnathan lulled to his right, his vision clouded, the weeping sores on his feet becoming increasingly excruciating, quickly throwing his hand onto the wall for extra support.

 _I'll give you the honours of telling him that._ The Doctor spat sarcastically, immediately standing upright as if nothing had occurred. _Actually, I take it back; I_ _ **need**_ _to talk to him,_ _if_ _he's capable of holding a solid thought in his head for more than a few seconds, that is._

 **No, you need to get to a safe house, and patch up that mes-**

"So, I guess I have _you_ to thank for that?" Johnathan asked, interrupting Scarecrow's warning. He knew there was logic behind Scarecrow's angry words, but he needed information. He'd learnt, reluctantly, from a very early age, that you _always_ had to be the smartest person in the room, to be firmly in control. He lifted a heavy arm towards the man stood opposite him. He knew the Joker was impeccably intelligent, but capable of recreating his toxin? Definitely not. An exaggerated minute passed without response. Johnathan was beginning to think that The Joker hadn't heard him; he swiped his free-hand across his clammy brow, brushing the sodden hair away from his eyes. Even the simple act of standing still was becoming gruelling.

"No-no,no- Doc _,_ not, uh, me…" The Joker confessed, with a delighted chuckle, throwing a precarious wink in Johnathan's direction, as if they were both embroiled in some seedy _joke_.

"Then who?" Johnathan urged, eager to retain a _name_ and go. He set his sights squarely on the bulging eyes of the Joker, for fear of losing his balance again. His head was swimming, and his knees were beginning to buckle with the effort of holding himself upright. He placed a weary finger to wrist, searching tentatively for a pulse. Johnathan sighed, the vibrations were painfully weak. He kept his actions hidden, so not to alert the Joker.

"A genius!" The Joker exclaimed. "-puts _you_ to shame"

"-but _who_?" Johnathan exhaled, his patience slowly deteriorating, with each baited breath.

 _Idiot._

"Tsk, tsk Doctor…I,uh can't say, that would be telling…" The Joker's laugh was unhinged and marginally disconcerting. The tepid evening suddenly grew _cold_. Scarecrow was immediately on alert, urging Johnathan to **STEP BACK,** but the Doctor's mind was too sluggish to comprehend that the situation had rapidly deteriorated. The madman began to stroll leisurely towards Johnathan, an apparent skip in his step. Johnathan's body responded meekly, with a little help from his alter ego, and he fell back against the wall, the cool, haggard brick, digging painfully into his back. "Why do you want to know- _ah?"_ With a fluid flick of his tongue, Joker was in front of Johnathan, his bulging forearm pressing restrictively into the man's exposed throat, taking the Doctor's breath.

"Hm?" The Joker sneered, baring his yellowed-teeth at Johnathan.

 **KILL HIM.** The Scarecrow's tone was absolute.

 _I_ _can't_ _you imbecile, I'm about thirty minutes away from slipping into Hypovolemic Shock. How do you think I'd fair in a fist fight?- besides, he's got the answer I need._

 **Apologize and** _ **bail**_ **then.**

 _You're just as curious as I am. If I let this drop, then the trail goes cold. Gotham's criminals aren't very communicative._

"Why… should… _you_ … care?" Johnathan rasped, carefully considering his words before speaking. He didn't want to offend him, quite the opposite in fact, he wanted to stroke his _ginormous_ ego. "You're... previous associates usually…don't make it…through the…heist" Johnathan distinctly remembered, The Joker always left a dismembered trail of his 'accomplices' strewn about Gotham. He was deliberately _messy_. Johnathan rolled his eyes at the thought.

"This one's a val-u-able asset, _Doc_ " The Joker giggled, applying another significant burst of pressure to Johnathan's throat. "She's smar-t _,_ not like my, uh, other goons"

"You mean you don't know who _she_ is?" Johnathan quickly caught the pronoun and adhered to it. He also deduced that if the Joker knew her name, being the textbook Narcissist that he is, he'd be boasting about it, whilst rubbing Johnathan's face into the dirt, literally.

"I've never seen her, she keeps her identity pretty close to the chest. A woman after my own hea _r-t_ " The Joker admitted, allowing Johnathan a quick, indulgent, gulp of air, as if he was applauding him for guessing correctly, before proceeding to tighten his grasp.

"Well, waht… if I wanted… to cnotact he-r?" Johnathan could barely function now, his words began to slur together, and became a garbled mangle of sounds.

"I couldn't tell you, uh _doc_ " The Joker continued, without missing a beat. "All I know is, _you_ don't find her, she finds _you."_ With another chorus of giggles, Joker released his grip on Johnathan's throat, and let the Doctor tumble to the floor, with an obnoxiously loud _crack_! Johnathan's face slapped onto the concrete, hard. His arms and legs were unsurprisingly immobile, and all of his previous adrenaline deteriorated almost instantly. His blurry eyes focused on the sock-clad feet of his tormentor, his glasses having collided with the floor just as heavy as Johnathan had. So now, he was not only paralysed, but helplessly _blind_.

"If you need to know, I'm not the one to ask. You might have to take a trip into Gotham's underbelly Doc, and go see the _conductor_ himself. Y'know, get yourself a little, uh, dirty for _once_ …"

Johnathan lifted his head, albeit only slightly, to gaze sleepily at the Joker. "Wha-?" His words fell short, and he slumped back onto the concrete, with a grimace. He quickly estimated that he was going to lose all- consciousness in less than a minute, Scarecrow begrudgingly agreed.

"Go see Penguin, if there's anyone in this city that knows, it's _him_ " The Joker carried on mercilessly, as if the person he'd helped, only half an hour previous, wasn't lying, choking, in a pool of his own blood.

 **N-not fucking** _ **Penguin**_ **. He's an imbecile.**

With Scarecrow's last thought resounding persistently in Johnathan's head, Johnathan finally allowed his tired eyes to fall closed, welcoming sleep.

"Go speak to tha folks you think so poorly of, _Doc._ Your compatriots! _"_

Before he was completely engulfed into the cascading blackness, he heard The Joker give one last hearty chuckle. He was _leaving_ him, stranded in the alleyway; the acoustics of his voice suggested he'd already moved onto the quiet street beyond, but before he could turn the corner, he couldn't help but throw _another_ threat in Johnathan's direction.

" _One_ for the money, _two_ for the info. That's TWO you owe me, Doc"

 **I know I said that this would be set a 'few weeks in the future' but it was difficult enough just getting this short chapter out. Personal reasons,, ETC.**

 **I know this is relatively filler, but again, next chapter we will be having** _ **banter,**_ **with Penguin. I'm hoping to get the next chapter out soon, now that I'm back on track.**

 **Again, Batman, Dr Crane and Gotham is NOT my property. All I own is my OC.**

 **Comment or criticize, I'd love to hear from you.**

 **Thankyou to all the folks who're already following this story, I hope this satisfies you. Much appreciated!**


	5. Chapter 5-'cause I'm a little Unsteady 2

Chapter 5- 'Cause I'm a little Unsteady PT 2.

(Johnathan's POV)

{Three weeks later}

The hastily crafted stiches, upon the soles of his feet were itching, throbbing, _burning_ ; he shifted uncomfortably in the straight-backed aluminium chair beneath him, feigning indifference.

Someone _thing_ had notched up the thermostat another 3 degrees; he toyed discreetly at the hem of his collar, ignoring the pustules of sweat that gathered on his forehead.

The clock on the wall continued to mock him, another exaggerated minute trudged by. His façade of self-importance was faltering. He re-positioned himself, deliberately keeping his resolute posture impeccable, and his stiff neck held high; he hoped his presence alone, would ward off any attempt at making idol chit-chat with the room's _other_ inhabitants. So far, it had been his only success. He wasn't fearful of Gotham's underbelly, merely _weary._ Trust was earned, and none of his unkempt, fellow 'Waiting Room' occupants deserved that courtesy.

Johnathan gave an impatient sigh, scrutinising the worn copy of Gotham Goss that was discarded on the table in front of him. The smiling, insufferable faces of Bruce Wayne and Gotham's elite had laughed at him for the past 64 minutes. If he was unfortunate enough to wait here for _another_ hour, he might even consider the preposterous idea of reading the magazine, the mere thought of it making him snort derisively.

The pot-bellied man, to Johnathan's left, gave _another_ raspy wheeze, and the all-too- polite woman to his right offered him a dank tissue, as a gesture of goodwill, draping across Johnathan's midsection as she did so; the exchange was the last straw for Johnathan, he was frazzled in both body and mind, he was on his feet in seconds, storming towards the reception desk, his briefcase in tow.

"Where is **Copperbalt**?!" Johnathan snapped, giving the timid receptionist an impromptu fright, as she startled eyes shot up abruptly from her IPhone. He slammed his fist onto the desk, allowing Scarecrow to bubble to the surface, albeit only slightly; he'd kept a lid on his alter-ego whilst he'd waited, but Johnathan was clearly distressed and his emotional restraints were taunt and frayed. Scarecrow was not one to squander an opportunity. Scarecrow waited with baited breath to be allowed _full_ function.

"I have waited here almost an hour and a half. If his plan is to rattle me, he's gotten his _fucking_ wish" His voice dropped an entire octave as he tore into the little woman, now visibly shaking in her scuffed stilettos, she opened her mouth to speak, but was abruptly cut-off as Johnathan ploughed on. "Now, I understand it's not _your_ fault, but if he doesn't grace me with his presence now-" His eyes darkened, a senseless smile gracing his lips "- **it will be** _ **your**_ **problem** "

Scarecrow lunged for the red-haired woman's exposed throat, scuttling over the desk with relative ease, his nimble fingers collided with her porcelain neck, her pulse raged beneath his palms, her sticky-sweet flesh melding to his _sick_ wishes. The flimsy stool beneath them collapsed on impact, splintering the plastic, and throwing the duo onto the cold, lino floor.

Simultaneously, the room erupted into unrivalled chaos; Gotham's underbelly, scrambled towards the desk, each desperate for a _taste_ of the action, shouting and swearing ensued, as bodies were knocked unceremoniously out of the way, and punches were thrown blindly. Scarecrow remained oblivious to the ruckus he had caused, instead focusing on the writhing victim locked in his arms, who was thrashing at him in unparalleled _terror_. He relished it.

The secretary clasped her eyes closed and fought diligently, but her lame blows were hardly a hindrance to Scarecrow, who towered above her, as he did most people. He batted her flailing arms away, as if brushing away an irritating gnat.

"No, no, no-" He hissed, lifting her petit body off the floor, and dropping it back down with an ear-splitting _Crack!_ "Open your _eyes_ , I want to see your fea-"

"Scarecrow." A firm, resolute voice reprimanded, piercing through the heavy fog that had obscured his deluded mind, a feat that the screaming patrons of the room could not accomplish. The room fell deathly silent, save for the convulsing girl's cries. Scarecrow dared a peek at his intruder, the pressure on his victim's throat not alleviating in the slightest; _this_ was a man of reverence and intrigue, Scarecrow noted curiously, allowing himself to regard him, disregarding his _prey_ for a briefest moment.

His lucid gaze fell upon two black Brogues, protruding from a pair of well-tailored slacks. His eyes ventured upward, scanning the man's pristine Tuxedo and intricate bow-tie ensemble, an outlandish red handkerchief peeking out of his clipped jacket pocket. The man was _hefty,_ not only in size, but in presence. He was well- put together, _and well sought after_ , Johnathan interjected. Middle-aged, boarding on ancient, his face was laden with wrinkles, from his sweaty forehead, to his prominent double-chin. He was an unusual looking man to say the least; grotesque, oversized nose, and humongous ears. His greying hair was slicked back, into a corporate style, sticky with heavy grease. He wasn't a man to be trifled with. He peered down at the Doctor, with clear distaste evident in his tired, blue eyes.

"Scarecrow. Would you kindly relieve my assistant, and allow Doctor Crane to return to us? I believe we had an appointment?" Scarecrow blinked, clearly befuddled at the man's impeccably calm demure. "Sorry for the delay, _Doctor_ ".

 _Let me back in!_ Johnathan pressed, hypothetically taking the wheel, while Scarecrow was momentarily distracted. Scarecrow's wistful smile dissolved immediately, and Johnathan's strained expression returned. Glancing around the room, at all the cowed, bloodied faces, he grimaced. It was not his intention to cause unnecessary attention to himself, _not tonight_. He had wanted a professional subterfuge, given the circumstances.

"You're _late_ " He croaked, peering up at Penguin with a disappointed scowl.

Breathing deeply, and gathering what little dignity he had left, he leapt off the girl, who was clearly disorientated and frightfully pale, but _alive_ , much to Scarecrow's dismay. He straightened his crumpled suit, and tugged at the cuff of his jacket. He quickly located his briefcase, which had gone AWOL in the kafuffle, and sighed.

"Shall we?" Penguin wheezed, gesturing to his office. The two criminals went on their way, not sparing the winded secretary a second glance.

" _Fucking sociopaths" She muttered._

…

"So, Crane, I'm curious as to why you're here? I mean no offense, dear boy, but you're usually the _reclusive_ -type" Oswald flashed Johnathan a winning smile, before clasping his clubbed fingers in front of him, and resting them carefully upon his heaving belly. Johnathan sat opposite him, scrutinising the weighty man; his stoic features remained impenetrable as ever, as he contemplated an answer. He easily surmised that violence was _not_ the answer, in regards to Oswald Copperbalt. The some-what sophisticated individual would clearly take any offensive actions as an insult. Resulting in Johnathan's hasty excommunication from the community, and in effect, disrupting his already-dwindling clientele pool. His fingers circled absentmindedly at the latch on his briefcase, which was planted beside him, it contained his Scarecrow Mask, and Toxin. A delightfully fearsome combination in _most_ situations, and preceded to become a strong motivator and bargaining chip, if there was need.

… _but not here._ Johnathan mused, realising that Scarecrow would just be a hindrance during their negotiations tonight, he resolved to _just being himself_.

"I need information" Johnathan returned shortly, keeping his thoughts guarded, and his features schooled.

"Is this about the _Bat_?" Oswald asked, continuing abruptly without giving Johnathan a chance to deny it. "I understand he's been on your tail since you fled Arkham. My contacts inform me that you've had a few close-calls recently. If it's protection you're after-"

"I'm careful, Oswald" Johnathan blurted, disliking any reference to his current vulnerable status. It was a widely-known fact, among Gotham's underbelly, that Batman had recently put all his efforts and fortitude into finding, _pummelling_ and incarcerating Doctor Crane; after a Toxin similar to Johnathan's had incapacitated the entirety of Arkham Asylum and allowed two notorious criminals to flee, in its monstrous wake. All of Batman's attentions seemed to have fallen on Johnathan's doorstep; overnight he had become a reluctant recluse, with an unwelcome target plastered upon his forehead. The Bat had concluded that the Doctor was behind the escape, and this had kept Johnathan in hiding for almost a month.

"So it's not my protection you seek" Penguin held up his hands in mock surrender, but the implied humour failed to reach his careful eyes. "However, as I'm sure we're you're aware, we're both on the clock tonight; it won't be long until Batman hears of your little tryst with my secretary, and I don't think _we_ want him to find you here. It'd be bad for my reputation, harbouring a known fugitive and all. So, prey-tell, what do you require from me?" The fat-man interlocked his fingers once more, and gave a curt nod of his head, urging Johnathan to speak.

"I want the Chemist, who sprung the Joker from Arkham"

Copperbalt's perfectly plucked eyebrows shot into his receding hairline, his jaw hanging limp for a moment; gurning for his lost words. His dumbfounded reaction was slight, and lasted a mere four seconds, but it quickly garnered Johnathan's interest.

"T-that was _you_ , Doctor Crane" Copperbalt's words felt foreign and undoubtedly rehearsed. Johnathan sighed, throwing Oswald a pointed look. Penguin immediately realised he'd misspoken and began shifting his heavy weight forwards in order to stand.

 _Why is everyone protecting her? First the Joker and his reluctance to give_ her _a name, and to illicit this reaction from Penguin…_

 **Beats me, but she sounds like a** _ **treat.**_ **I can't wait to meet her Johnny-Boy.**

 _I'm tired of this._

"Look Oswald, we're both _friends_ here-" Copperbalt's features twisted into an obvious display of distaste, earning a satisfied smirk from Johnathan- he re-evaluated his words. "Okay, we both have something in common… Our reputation"

He carefully reached for his briefcase, his pointed stare not leaving Copperbalt's, and began making a deliberate show of fumbling at the latches.

"I escaped Arkham, only to discover that my dim-witted clientele have decided to get their gear elsewhere-" Copperbalt raised a chubby finger, but Johnathan ploughed onwards, his words becoming increasingly vehement as he did so; This wasn't Scarecrow, this was _all_ Johnathan, raw and explicit, a tirade of emotions flitting across his face, decorum long forgotten. "I then find out, that the _same_ person that helped the Joker, is selling the carbon-copy of _my_ toxin, to the masses, but for pittance?!" He finally unclasped his briefcase, and let the faux-leather lid clatter onto the desk; the contents now in full-view of Penguin. The blatant threat spurned Penguin into action, he brought his shoulders back, as show of defiance and squared off against the Doctor.

"I believe this meeting is at its close, Doctor. If you can't handle a little competition, then that's not _my_ proble-".

 **Wrong answer…**

Scarecrow lunged forwards and yanked at Copperbalt's ludicrous tie; in an instant Oswald was halfway across the desk. The otherworldly strength that Scarecrow sometimes exuded, astonished Johnathan.

 _Stop!_ Johnathan interjected, halting Scarecrow in his diabolical tracks; the tidy folds of Copperbalt's collar beginning to crease in Scarecrow's callous grip.

 **What is it** _ **now**_ **Johnny-Boy?** Scarecrow was becoming increasingly restless, his delicate fingertips lingering at Copperbalt's exposed neck; the fat man quivered.

 _Did you hear what I said?- I have a plan. Now leave the idiot alone!_

 **But-**

 _NOW._

 **First the secretary,** _ **now**_ **this. You'll pay for this one, Johnny-Boy. Taking away my toys…**

Begrudgingly, Scarecrow let go of Oswald's collar, one excruciating finger at a time, all the while _still_ cussing at Johnathan, until his cruel taunts were but a mumble in the recess of Johnathan's broken mind. Copperbalt quickly fell back into his chair, straightening his askew tie.

"Get out!" Copperbalt shouted, pointing a shaky finger at the door.

"Sorry for the interruption" Johnathan confessed, feigning sympathy. "But before I leave- I must show you this"

He reached into his briefcase, his hand hovering hesitantly over his Scarecrow mask, before finally retrieving a crude Polaroid photograph; taken January of this year, its exact date scrawled in Johnathan's almost- indistinguishable Doctor's script on the back of the Photo. It pictured Oswald handling _dirty_ money, and conversing gallantly with the notorious Sal Moroni.

"Where did you get this?" Balked Copperbalt.

"It doesn't matter _where_ I got it. The bigger question is... Sal Moroni _is_ alive, and is on _your_ payroll. Now, like I said, both our reputations are at stake here-" Johnathan probed forward, letting Copperbalt gawk disbelievingly at the Polaroid for a further second, before snatching it back, holding it at arm's length.

 _Like taking Candy from a baby,_ Johnathan mused.

"Damn it" Copperbalt spat, before settling back into his chair, clearly defeated. The fat-man kept huffing, his beady eyes trailing to photograph clasped in Johnathan's fist, and then back to Johnathan's almost- _taunting_ face. A smug smile plucked at Johnathan's lips as he watched Copperbalt's deliberation, and eventual defeat.

"Okay, she's-" Penguin finally conceded. Copperbalt rubbed vehemently at his forehead, as if he was soothing a violent headache; he was sweating profusely now, the exertion of his words seemingly exhausting him. Johnathan noted the oddity, then disregarded it when Oswald finally spoke, his words garbled. "She's a _D_ -doctor at Gotham General" Oswald sighed, his hands falling at his sides, his breathing rapid. "T-that's all I know, I swear to God"

"You've had dealings with her, how can you not know-"

"I don't, okay?" Oswald was clearly distressed; his eyes were awash with fear, an emotion that Johnathan was all too familiar with. "She's a Doctor. I don't even know her name. I don't know anything" Copperbalt sank deeper into his chair. "Ive—I've got _nothing_ "

 _He's clearly deluded. Perhaps early onset Alzheimer's?_

 **Who knows? Let's just take that and run with it.**

"I think our business here is concluded, Oswald" Johnathan stood abruptly, interrupting Copperbalt's inane chatter; The Fat Man had begun to mumble incessantly; an incoherent mess of half- sentences and garbled words, all the while rubbing furiously at his temple. Johnathan simply slipped the Polaroid Photograph onto Copperbalt's desk, and gave a curt nod.

He walked towards the door, Copperbalt's _earie_ lamentations following behind him. He hesitated at the doorknob, as Copperbalt's voice called after him.

"Be warned Doctor Crane-" Copperbalt croaked, Johnathan didn't turn around or acknowledge the Man in anyway, just squinted at the hard wooden flesh of the Door, listening intently. "She's just as smart, if not smarter than _you_ ; with a heart as destitute as your own"

"I'm careful, Oswald" Johnathan hissed, allowing Copperbalt only a heartbeat of courtesy, before he flung open the door and made a hasty exit; flashing the secretary a smarmy grin as he raced out of the Iceberg Lounge.

 **Long time coming, I know- and I do apologize; but with the way I work, I tend to WRITE EVERYTHING, then REWRITE, AND REWRITE. I won't let myself send out mediocre work (in my eyes, anyways).**

 **NEXT TIME: OUR TWO LEADS** **FINALLY** **MEET.**

 **Again, Batman, Dr Crane and Gotham is NOT my property. All I own is my OC.**

 **Comment or criticize, I'd love to hear from you.**

 **Thankyou to all the folks who're already following this story, I hope this satisfies you. Much appreciated!**


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